


inky blackness

by orphan_account



Category: Durarara!!
Genre: Child Abuse, PTSD, Post-Ketsu, Shizuo is just mentioned, Suicide Attempt, Trans Character, Transphobia, shizaya if you squint, trans izaya
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-22
Updated: 2017-09-22
Packaged: 2019-01-04 00:43:04
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,037
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12158121
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: After an outing with his parents to celebrate their return from overseas, Izaya finds himself tangled with emotions that he hasn't dealt with in years.





	inky blackness

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first work in the fandom, and my first work on AO3! Please leave critiques and comments! I'd love to hear them. I also take requests, if you want them written!

Click, _click, **click.**_

The sound of heels **clicking** on tile resonated through the room, causing _nausea_ to twist and curl through Izaya, his fists **clenching** at his sides. He hated this. He always would. It **_sickened_ ** him, really. How couldn't it?

Izaya looked straight ahead as he waited for the _inevitable_.

Click, **click** , **_click_**.

 " _Look who’s finally decided to show up-!"_

Izaya's head swung towards the speaking, a **forced** smile pulling at his cheeks as he met the eyes of the dreaded woman. Her hair was long, light consuming, rings on her fingers that sparkled with each hit of the light on the expensive gems, her smile near _dazzling_.

A _front_.

**She was a horrible person.**

  _ **"Shirou-!** Come downstairs! She finally showed up, we can go!"_

Izaya's shoulders tensed, and he tapped his foot, **impatiently** waiting for his father to join them downstairs. The moving of his foot _ached_ , pain **tearing** and **_shooting_ ** through his _muscles_ , but he needed to get **used to** that eventually. His injuries couldn't hinder him **forever** , after all. He was torn out of his thoughts at the sound of _sneakers_ hitting stairs. Both Mairu and Kururi came down first, staying with their parents during their brief visit home.

  _"Iza-nii! **Izaaa-nii!"**_

Mairu's chirp like voice saved him, his little sister's arms wrapped around his waist, Kururi's joining moments later. A smile, the first **genuine** one of the day, crossed Izaya's features.

They were so small, even after they had gotten so old, and it warmed Izaya's heart in the most disgusting of ways to see them again after so long.

Even if they **_hated_ ** him, they were so innocent.

So **horrifyingly** innocent.

 " _Don't call her that, Mairu! How many times have I told you not to do that?"_

Izaya had expected the reprimanding from his mother, not surprised a bit, her grating voice assaulting his ears. The noiret cringed as he looked at her, surveying her form, finding **familiarity** where he didn't want to. He looked a little _too_ much like her.

His hair was the same **light absorbing** color that Kyouko wore, and his lips were just as soft and plump. He bruised just as easily as his mother always had. His nose was just as upturned, and his body was just as thin.

 **Hell** , he was even her _height_.

There was only one difference, really, between the two.

His **eyes**. Izaya's eyes had disgusted his parents from the day he had been born. They were bright red, and even from his first hour alive, they seemed to be _all seeing_ and **unforgiving**. It made sense, really.

He had always known that he was going to be a horrible person. A monster, really... No- no, he'd be a **_god_**.

**More than a god.**

He loved people. He loved humans with such an intensity that it consumed him. He was sure that he could watch a crowd for hours, unblinking, just taking joy in seeing his gullible little humans living their tired, repetitive, pathetic lives.

Kyouko Orihara was one of the only humans he couldn't bring himself to love so unconditionally, as he did everyone else.

He felt a special kind of **hatred** for her. Something that _burned_ and **_twisted_ ** into him so intensely that it scarred him leaving him damaged, **melting** , at the sound of her even moving. A hatred so _true_ , so **_consuming_** , that it outranked even his hatred for the **beast** he had fought for years, who had rendered him physically useless. She had wronged him too much when he was too small, too _innocent_ to **know** , and he couldn't ever bring himself to forgive her for that.

  ** _"Let's go, shall we, girls?"_**

He ignored her from that point forward, laughing and smiling when he _needed_ to, **numbing** himself through the entire dinner. The family seemed to be perfect to any onlookers, the children of the Orihara family catching up with their lovely parents after yet another out-of-country business trip.

He might have even looked **happy** to see his parents, but he **_wasn't_**.

He **hated** it when they came home.

He hated playing as their **daughter** to appease them, but Mairu and Kururi wanted to see them. They didn't _know_.

They'd never **_know_ ** how bad things had been, or what had **happened** , and Izaya was fine letting them retain that innocence.

He couldn't ruin his sisters more than he already had.

He didn't want them to _break_. That wouldn't be fun.

_So he went along with it._

 

* * *

 

 

Later that night, Izaya laid in his bed, staring up at the ceiling above him. His feet _ached_ , his head **_pulsed_** , everything just **burned**.

He felt as if he would **shatter** if he moved even slightly.

It wasn't physical injuries, no. Izaya could **handle** those. Day after day he had gotten into fights with Shizuo, that **beast** , and he had retained injuries from fights they had had _multiple_ times!

Thinking about said injuries made him feel **sick** , made his head **_spin_** , but he pushed those thoughts away. He had no time to think about that right now.

Izaya tried to get rid of the thoughts of that fight, ignoring the **_fact_ ** that they wouldn't leave, forcing his mind to move forward.

He could handle all types of **physical** pain.

Not... the _mental_.

Hearing Kyouko call him her **daughter** , again and again, hearing her voice's happy _lilt_ as she denied him something so simple, something so fixable, made him **_sick_**. All she had to do was change _one_ thing about the way she spoke of him.

Perhaps the noiret could go back to **loving** **her** if she did. Loving her the way he had when he was _younger_ , more **naive** , but that was impossible now. Izaya hated that he allowed this to get to him. _He wasn't a child any longer,_ after all. His mother didn't mean much to him when she wasn't around! There was no reason for him to care so much about her opinion of him.

Anyone else, and he'd be _fine_.

Anyone else, and he'd still be able to observe them so **gleefully** , he'd still be able to love them **_unconditionally_** , even if they wronged him as much as Kyouko had!

Her, though. He had been around her his _entire_ life, and he could never forgive her for everything she had done to him.

He had come out, mentioned something about how it felt, to Kyouko at the tender age of **eight years old**. He had known, then, that the girly things, the pronouns, the everything... hurt. It felt **wrong**. It made something akin to _disgust_ tear at his skin. It made him ** _hate_** himself.

How could he do that when he was so **perfect**?

He wanted to be _comfortable_ , so he had cut his hair off and he had told his mother that he was a **_boy_**.

That was the first time she had _hurt_ him.

Again, it wasn't _physical_. It never was. She had held him close, **suffocatingly** so, and he still recalled it so well. The smell of her lavender perfume as she lovingly whispered that, _oh, her **daughter** , her poor _**daughter** _-_

Izaya had been sent away that summer.

He had been taken to numerous psychologists, therapists, anyone who his parents thought could **reverse** whatever had happened to Izaya at such a tender age.

_The Orihara family was a proud family, after all._

**_They couldn't have such a stain on their name._ **

Once they had realized that their youngest child would rather **die** than pretend he didn't feel such a way, they had disappeared. Off overseas, doing work, as they said.

Izaya had known that it was his fault. It was no secret.

A few years later, a few years of living alone, and two small forms had joined his life. Mairu and Kururi. A letter had been with them when he had received them, of course. His parents knew him well, after all.

They knew that _their poor **daughter** , their monster of a _**daughter** _,_ hadn't had strong enough feelings for living beings that would have made him keep the girls.

  _'These are your sisters. We hope you'll take care of them, but we find ourselves unable. Their eyes shine like yours had when you were a baby, and though we doubt they could be as demonic as you are, we need to make sure.'_

When Izaya had caught his first glimpse at those eyes, those pretty **red** eyes that matched his own so clearly, he had found himself knowing that these girls wouldn't be normal.

These girls wouldn't be as _gullible_ as his humans were.

He wouldn't be able to _control_ them, and that had sent a surge of surprise, of **excitement** , through him. He had taken care of the infants, raised them as his own, taught them how to be _liked_.

They had caught on quickly.

Izaya hadn't wanted his parents to hate them as much as they had hated **him** , after all.

Looking back on it, the older wished that he could have kept **caring** about things as much as he did when he was younger, but everything good in him had been **_broken_ _down_** as he had gotten older.

_He really couldn't remember why he was doing this anymore._

Izaya ran his fingers through his hair as he sat up, head **swimming** , his nails bitten and chewed down to nearly nothing due to his own anxiety getting the better of him tonight.

**_Why was he alive?_ **

It was a question he hadn't asked himself in a very long time, but tonight was a **_low_ ** night. Tonight was a night where that question made its way, _clawing_ and **_tearing_** , right to the center of his mind. He didn't quite know anymore if he was honest.

A few years ago he would have answered that it was because he loved humans.

He still did, he knew. He loved each of them **unconditionally**. He wanted to play with them, he wanted to **break them down,** he wanted to give himself to each of them and let them know that they were _**loved**_.

_He wanted to make them love him back, but he knew he couldn't do that._

**_That was out of the question._ **

After a while, a long while, it had gotten _boring_. Even playing **God** had begun to bore the noiret after long enough. He knew he had **control** , and, sure, it was amusing to watch the humans tangle themselves because of one move he had made, but that was the problem.

They were **_predictable_**.

They always had been, and that got... **boring**.

He needed **unpredictable**. He needed someone that he wouldn't be able to calculate the moves of, and he had someone like that. **That** , he assumed, was why he had been _alive_ until now...

_He didn't have him now, though._

Thoughts, memories, of their **fight** , flashed through his head. Phantom pain curled around him like **_smoke_** , filling his lungs, _suffocating_ him with such intensity that he had to gasp for air. **_Yes, he didn't have him anymore._**

He wondered, idly, what **Shizuo** was doing tonight.

Something less saddening, less _pathetic_ , than this, he was sure.

_**What was he living for, again..?** _

He spent a while contemplating that question, staring at the ceiling, before he lowered himself into his wheelchair. He couldn't walk after _exerting_ himself all day to amuse his parents.

 ** _Pathetic_**.

He wheeled himself to his table, grabbing the pill bottle. **Painkillers**. He still needed them sometimes, but the prescription was full. He hadn't needed them so much lately. He was _healing_ , they told him. It was **_remarkable_** , they said.

What that **monster** \- _no, he wasn't a **monster**_ \- had done to him should have been _irreversible_.

It had been, it turned out, but in a **different** way.

**_That fight made him lose his reason to live._ **

Sighing as he filled a glass of water, pill bottle in hand, Izaya gave a bitter smile to the ceiling.

  ** _"It's fitting I go out like this, isn't it?"_**

That was the last thing that escaped the noiret's mouth before he took the pills, _each and every one of them_ , calmly wheeling himself back to his bedroom, climbing into bed and smiling as he drifted off to sleep.

 

**Inky blackness held him all through the night.**


End file.
